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AMORETTI 



AMORETTI 

WRITTEN NOT LONG SINCE 

BY 

EDMUNDE SPENSER 



5 , , J , '. 



NEW YORK 

THE LAUREL PRESS 

MCMI 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two COr'liid RECEIVEO 

JUN. 24 1901 

COPVRlGHT ENTRY 

ciASsO^ XXc. N.», 
COPY 3. 






!Q^ t 



Copyright, igoi 

By 

The Laurel Press 



TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL SIR 
ROBART NEEDHAM, KNIGHT 

SIR, to gratulate your safe return from Ire- 
land, I had nothing so readie, nor thought 
any thing so meete, as these sweete conceited 
Sonets, the deede of that wel deserving gentle- 
man, maister Edmond Spenser : whose name 
sufficiently warranting the worthinesse of the 
work, I do more confidently presume to publish 
it in his absence, under your name, to whom 
(in my poore opinion) the patronage therof 
doth in some respectes properly appertaine. 
For, besides your judgement and delighte in 
learned poesie, this gentle Muse, for her former 
perfection long wished for in Englande, nowe 
at the length crossing the Seas in your happy 
companye, (though to your selfe unknowne) 
seemeth to make choyse of you, as meetest to 
give her deserved countenaunce, after her re- 
tourne : entertaine her, then, (Right worship- 
full) in sorte best beseeming your gentle minde, 
and her merite, and take in worth my good will 
herein, who seeke no more but to shew my selfe 
yours in all dutifull affection. 

W. P. 



TO THE AUTHOR 

DARKE is the day, when Phoebus face is 
shrowded, 
And weaker sights may wander soone astray : 
But, when they see his glorious raies un- 

clowded, 
With steddy steps they keepe the perfect way: 
So, while this Muse in forraine landes doth stay, 
Invention weepes, and pens are cast aside ; 
The time, like night, deprivd of chearefull day ; 
And few do write, but (ah !) too soone may slide. 
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide, 
And with thy wit illustrate Englands fame, 
Dawnting thereby our neighboures auncient 

pride. 
That do, for poesie, challendge cheefest name : 
So we that live, and ages that succeede, 
With great applause thy learned works shall 
reede. 

G. W. SENIOR. 



TO THE AUTHOR 

AH ! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine, 
■ Pyping to shepherds thy sweete rounde- 

laies : 
Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine, 
Heroick deedes of past or present daies ; 
Or whether in thy lovely mistris praise, 
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill ; 
Thy muse hath got such grace and power to 

please. 
With rare invention, bewtified by skill, 
As who therein can ever joy their fill ! 
O ! therefore let that happy muse proceede 
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill, 
Where endles honour shall be made thy meede : 

Because no malice of succeeding daies 

Can rase those records of thy lasting praise. 

G. W. L^ 



AMORETTI 




lAPPY, ye leaves! when as 

I those lilly hands, 

I Which hold my life in their 

dead-doing might, 
I Shall handle you, and hold in 
loves soft bands, 
Lyke captives trembling at the 
__ _ _ _„ I victors sight. 
And happy lines ! on which, with starry light, 
Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to 

look, 
And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright. 
Written with teares in harts close-bleeding book. 
And happy rymes ! bath'd in the sacred brooke 
Of Helicon, whence she derived is ; 
When ye behold that Angels blessed looke. 
My soules long-lacked foode, my heavens blis ; 
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please 

alone. 
Whom if ye please, I care for other none ! 




NQUIET thought! whom at 
the first I bred 

Of th' inward bale of my love- 
pined hart ; 

And sithens have with sighes 
and sorrowes fed, 
Till greater then my wombe 
thou woxen art : 
Breake forth at length out of the inner part, 
In which thoii lurkest lyke to vipers brood ; 
And seeke some succour both to ease my smart, 
And also to sustayne thy selfe with food. 
But, if in presence of that fayrest proud 
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet ; 
And, with meeke humblesse and afflicted mood, 
Pardon for thee, and grace for me, intreat : 
Which, if she graunt, then live, and my love 

cherish : 
If not, die soone ; and I with thee will perish. 



11 




HE soverayne beauty which 
I doo admyre, 

Witnesse the world how 
worthy to be prayzed ! 
The light whereof hath kin- 
dled heavenly fyre 
In my fraile spirit, by her from 
baseness raysed ; 
That, being now with her huge brightnesse 

dazed. 
Base thing I can no more endure to view : 
But, looking still on her, I stand amazed 
At wondrous sight of so celestiall hew. 
So when my toung would speak her praises dew, 
It stopped is with thoughts astonishment ; 
And, when my pen would write her titles true, 
It ravisht is with fancies wonderment : 
Yet in my hart I then both speake and write 
The wonder that my wit cannot endite. 



Ill 




lEW yeare, forth looking out 
of Janus gate, 

Doth seeme to promise hope 
of new delight : 
[And, bidding th' old Adieu, 
his passed date 
Bids all old thoughts to die 
in dumpish spright : 
And, calling forth out of sad Winters night 
Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerlesse 

bower, 
Wils him awake, and soone about him dight 
His wanton wings and darts of deadly power. 
For lusty Spring now in his timely howre 
Is ready to come forth, him to receive ; 
And warnes the Earth with divers-colord flowre 
To decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle weave. 
Then you, faire flowre ! in whom fresh youth 

doth raine. 
Prepare your selfe new love to entertaine. 



tv 




^UDELY thou wrongest my 
1 deare harts desire, 
In finding fault with her too 
portly pride : 

The thing which I doo most in 
her admire, 

Is of the world unworthy most 
envide: 

For in those lofty lookes is close implide, 
Scorn of base things, and sdeigne of foul dis- 
honor : 
Thretning rash eies which gaze on her so wide, 
That loosely they ne dare to looke upon her. 
Such pride is praise ; such portlinesse is honor ; 
That boldned innocence beares in hir eies ; 
And her faire countenance, like a goodly banner, 
Spreds in defiaunce of all enemies. 

Was never in this world ought worthy tride, 
Without some spark of such self-pleasing 
pride. 




|E nought dismayd that her 
' unmoved mind 
I Doth still persist in her re- 
bellious pride : i 
Such love, not lyke to lusts of 
baser kynd, | 
The harder wonne, the firmer 1 
will abide. \ 
The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride, i 
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre ; 
But, when it once doth burne, it doth divide \ 
Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven 

aspire. 
So hard it is to kindle new desire 
In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever : 
Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire 
With chast affects that naught but death can 
sever ; j 

Then thinke not long in taking litle paine ■ 

To knit the knot, that ever shall remaine. 



VI 




AYRE eyes! the myrrour of 

my mazed hart, 

What wondrous vQi*tue is con- 

taynd in you, 

The which both ly fe and death 

forth from you dart. 

Into the object of your mighty 

view? 

For, when ye mildly looke with lovely hew, 
Then is my soule with life and love inspired : 
But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew, 
Then doe I die, as one with lightning fyred. 
But, since that lyfe is more then death desyred, 
Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best ; 
That your bright beams, of my weak eies ad- 

myred, 
May kindle living fire within my brest. 
Such life should be the honor of your light. 
Such death the sad ensample of your might. 



vu 




ORE then most faire, full of 
the living fire, 

Kindled above unto the Maker 
neere ; 

No eies but joyes, in which al 
powers conspire, 
That to the world naught else 
be counted deare ; 
Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded 

guest 
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound ; 
But Angels come to lead fraile mindes to rest 
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound. 
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within ; 
You stop my toung, and teach my hart to speake; 
You calme the storme that passion did begin. 
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue 
weak. 
Dark is the world, where your light shined 

never ; 
Well is he borne, that may behold you ever. 



vin 




ONG-WHILE I sought to 
what I might compare 
Those powrefull eies, which 
lighten my dark spright ; 
Yet find I nought on earth, to 
which I dare 

Resemble th' ymage of their 
goodly light. 

Not to the Sun ; for they doo shine by night ; 

Nor to the Moone ; for they are changed never; 

Nor to the Starres ; for they have purer sight ; 

Nor to the Fire ; for they consume not ever ; 

Nor to the Lightning; for they still persever; 

Nor to the Diamond ; for they are more tender ; 

Nor unto Cristall ; for nought may them sever ; 

Nor unto Glasse ; such baseness mought offend 
her. 

Then to the Maker selfe they likest be, 
Whose light doth lighten all that here we see. 



m 




NRIGHTEOUS Lord of 
Love, what law is this, 
That me thou makest thus 
tormented be. 

The whiles she lordeth in li- 
centious blisse 

Of her freewill, scorning both ■ 
thee and me ? j 

See ! how the Tyrannesse doth joy to see ' 

The huge massacres which her eyes do make ; 
And humbled harts brings captive unto thee. 
That thou of them mayst mightie vengeance 

take. 
But her proud hart doe thou a little shake, | 

And that high look, with which she doth comp- ' 
troll \ 

All this world's pride, bow to a baser make, \ 

And al her faults in thy black booke enroll : 
That I may laugh at her in equall sort, - 

As she doth laugh at me, and makes my pain 
her sport. i 




AYLY when I do seeke and 

sew for peace, 

And hostages doe offer for my 

truth ; 

She, cruell warriour, doth her- 

selfe addresse 

To battell, and the weary war 

renew'th ; 

Ne wilbe moov'd with reason, or with rewth. 
To graunt small respit to my restlesse toile ; 
But greedily her fell intent poursewth, 
Of my poore life to make unpittied spoile. 
Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle, 
I would her yield, her wrath to pacify : 
But then she seeks, with torment and turmoyle, 
To force me live, and will not let me dy. 
All paine hath end, and every war hath peace ; 
But mine, no price nor prayer may surcease. 



XI 




NE day I sought with her hart- 
thrilling eies 

To make a truce, and termes 
to entertaine : 

All fearelesse then of so false 
enimies, 
'Which sought me to entrap in 
treasons traine. 
So, as I then disarmed did remaine, 
A wicked ambush which lay hidden long 
In the close covert of her guilefuU eyen, 
Thence breaking forth, did thick about me 

throng, 
Too feeble 1 1' abide the brunt so strong, 
Was forst to yeeld my selfe into their hands ; 
Who, me captiving streight with rigorous 

wrong, 
Have ever since me kept in cruell bands. 
So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine, 
Against your eies, that justice I may gaine. 



xn 




N that proud port, which her 
so goodly graceth, 
Whiles her faire face she 
reares up to the skie, 
And to the ground her eie-lids 
low embaseth, 

Most goodly temperature ye 
may descry ; 
Myld humblesse, mixt with awfull majesty. 
For, looking on the earth whence she was borne, 
Her minde remembreth her mortalitie, 
Whatso is fayrest shall to earth returne. 
But that same lofty countenance seemes to 

scorne 
Base thing, and thinke how she to heaven may 

clime ; 
Treading downe earth as lothsome and forlorne. 
That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy 
slime. 

Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me ; 
Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be. 



xui 




'ETOURNE agayne, my forces 
late dismayd, 

,Unto the siege by you aban- 
doned quite. 

Great shame it is to leave, like 
one afrayd, 

So fayre a peece, for one re- 
pulse so light, 
Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater 

might 
Then those small forts which ye were wont 

belay : 
Such haughty mynds, enur'd to hardy fight, 
Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. 
Bring therefore all the forces that ye may. 
And lay incessant battery to her heart ; 
Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dis- 
may; 
Those engins can the proudest love convert : 
And, if those fayle, fall downe and dy before 

her; 
So dying live, and living do adore her. 



XIV 




E tradefull Merchants, that, 
with weary toyle, 
Do seeke most pretious things 
to make your gain ; 
And both the Indias of their 
treasure spoile ; 
What needeth you to seeke so 

. .^ farre in vaine ? 

For loe, my love doth in her selfe containe 
All this worlds riches that may farre be found : 
If Saphyres, loe, her eies be Saphyres plaine ; 
If Rubies, loe, hir lips be Rubies sound ; 
If Pearles, hir teeth be Pearles, both pure and 

round ; 
If Yvorie, her forehead Yvory weene ; 
If Gold, her locks are finest Gold on ground ; 
If Silver, her faire hands are Silver sheene : 
But that which fairest is, but few behold. 
Her mind adornd with vertues manifold. 



XV 




|NE day as I unwarily did gaze 
On those fay re eyes, my loves 
immortall light ; 
[The whiles my stonisht hart 

stood in amaze, 
(Through sweet illusion of her 
lookes delight ; 

I mote perceive how, in her 
glauncing sight, 
Legions of loves with little wings did fly ; 
Darting their deadly arrowes, fyry bright, 
At every rash beholder passing by. 
One of those archers closely I did spy, 
Ayming his arrow at my very hart : 
When suddenly, with twincle of her eye. 
The Damzell broke his misintended dart. 
Had she not so doon, sure I had bene slayne ; 
Yet as it was, I hardly scap*t with paine. 



xvi 




HE glorious pourtraict of that 
Angels face, 

Made to amaze weake mens 
confused skil, 
I And this worlds worthlesse 
glory to embase, 
,What pen, what pencill, can 
expresse her fill ? 
For though he colours could devize at will. 
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide, 
Least, trembling, it his workmanship should 

spill ; 
Yet many wondrous things there are beside : 
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes 

glide ; 
The charming smiles, that rob sence from the 

hart; 
The lovely pleasance ; and the lofty pride ; 
Cannot expressed be by any art. 
A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth 

neede. 
That can expresse the life of things indeed. 



xvn 




HE rolling wheele that run- 
neth often round, 
(The hardest Steele, in tract of 
time doth teare : 
|And drizling drops, that often 

doe redound, 
,The firmest flint doth in con- 
tinuance weare : 
Yet cannot I, with many a dropping teare 
And long intreaty, soften her hard hart ; 
That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare, 
Or looke with pitty on my payneful smart ; 
But, when I pleade, she bids me play my part ; 
And, when I weep, she sayes, Teares are but 

water. 
And, when I sigh, she sayes, I know the art ; 
And, when I waile, she turnes hir selfe to 
laughter. 

So do I weepe, and wayle, and pleade in vaine, 
; Whiles she as Steele and flint doth still re- 
mayne. 



xvni 




I HE merry Cuckow, messen- 
ger of Spring, 

His trompet shrill hath thrise 
already sounded, 
I That warnes al lovers wayt 
upon their king. 
Who now is comming forth 
with girland crouned. 
With noyse whereof the quyre of Byrds re- 
sounded, 
Their anthemes sweet, devized of loves prayse, 
That all the woods theyr ecchoes back re 

bounded, 
As if they knew the meaning of their layes. 
But mongst them all, which did Loves honor 

rayse. 
No word was heard of her that most it ought ; 
But she his precept proudly disobayes. 
And doth his ydle message set at nought. 
Therefore, O Love, unless she turne to thee 
Ere Cuckow end, let her a rebell be ! 



XIX 




N vaine I seeke and sew to 

her for grace, 

And doe myne humbled hart 

before her poure ; 

The whiles her foot she in my 

necke doth place, 

And tread my life downe in 

the lowly floure. 
And yet the Lyon that is Lord of power, 
And reigneth over every beast in field. 
In his most pride disdeigneth to devoure 
The silly lambe that to his might doth yield. 
But she, more cruell, and more salvage wylde, 
Then either Lyon or the Lyonesse ; 
Shames not to be with guiltlesse bloud defylde, 
But taketh glory in her cruelnesse. 

Fayrer then fayrest ! let none ever say, 
That ye were blooded in a yeelded pray. 



XX 




AS it the worke of Nature or 
of Art, 

Which tempred so the feature 
of her face, 
(That pride and meeknesse, 
mixt by equall part, 
I Doe both appeare t' adorne her 
beauties grace ? 
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride dis- 
place. 
She to her love doth lookers eyes allure ; 
And, with sterne countenance, back again doth 

chace 
Their looser lookes that stir up lustes impure ; 
With such strange termes her eyes she doth 

inure, 
That, with one looke, she doth my life dismay ; 
And with another doth it streight recure ; 
Her smile me drawes ; her frowne me drives 
away. 
Thus doth she traine and teach me with her 

lookes ; ^y 

Such art of eyes I never read in bookes ! 



XXI 




I HIS holy season, fit to fast 
and pray, 

,Men to devotion ought to be 
inclynd ; 
iTherefore, I lykewise, on so 
holy day, 

For my sweet Saynt some 
service fit will find. 
Her temple fayre is built within my mind. 
In which her glorious ymage placed is ; 
On which my thoughts doo day and night attend, 
Lyke sacred priests that never thinke amisse ! 
There I to her, as th' author of my blisse, 
Will builde an altar to appease her yre ; 
And on the same my hart will sacrifise, 
Burning in flames of pure and chast desyre : 
The which vouchsafe, O goddesse, to accept. 
Amongst thy deerest relicks to be kept. 



xxn 




'ENELOPE, for her Ulisses 
sake, 

Deviz'd a Web her wooers to 
deceave ; 

In which the worke that she 
all day did make, 
The same at night she did 
againe unreave : 
Such subtile craft my Damzell doth conceave, 
Th' importune suit of my desire to shonne : 
For all that I in many dayes doo weave, 
In one short houre I find by her undonne. 
So, when I thinke to end that I begonne, 
I must begin and never bring to end : 
For with one looke she spils that long I sponne ; 
And with one word my whole years work doth 
rend. 

Such labour like the Spyders web I fynd, 
^Vhose fruitlesse worke is broken with least 
wynd. 



xxni 




HEN I behold that beauties 
wonderment, 

And rare perfection of each 
'goodly part; 

Of natures skill the onely com- 
plement ; 

'I honor and admire the Mak- 
ers art. 

But when I feele the bitter balefull smart, 
Which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke in 

mee, 
That death out of theyr shiny beames doe dart ; 
I thinke that I a new Pandora see, 
Whom all the Gods in councell did agree 
Into this sinfull world from heaven to send ; 
That she to wicked men a scourge should bee, 
For all their faults with which they did offend. 
But, since ye are my scourge, I will intreat, 
That for my faults ye will me gently beat. 



XXIV 




O W long shall this lyke dying 
lyfe endure, 

And know no end of her owne 
mysery, 

But wast and weare away in 
termes unsure, 

Twixt feare and hope depend- 
ing doubtfully ! 
Yet better were attonce to let me die. 
And shew the last ensample of your pride ; 
Then to torment me thus with cruelty. 
To prove your powre, which I too well have 

tride. 
But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide 
A close intent at last to shew me grace ; 
Then all the woes and wrecks which I abide. 
As meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace ; 
And wish that more and greater they might be, 
That greater meede at last may turne to mee. 



XXV 




WEET is the Rose, but growes 

upon a brere ; 

Sweet is the Junipere, but 

sharpe his bough ; 

Sweet is the Eglantine, but 

pricketh nere ; 

Sweet is the Firbloome, but 

his braunche is rough ; 
Sweet is the Cypresse, but his rynd is tough ; 
Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill ; 
Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre 

enough ; 
And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill. 
So every sweet with soure is tempred still, 
That maketh it be coveted the more : 
For easie things, that may be got at will. 
Most sorts of men doe set but little store. 
Why then should I accoumpt of little paine. 
That endlesse pleasure shall unto me gaine ! 



XXVI 




lAIRE Proud! now tell me, 

why should faire be proud, 
'Sith all worlds glorie is but 
drosse uncleane, 
And in the shade of death it 
selfe shall shroud, 
However now thereof ye little 
weene ! 

That goodly Idoll, now so gay beseene. 
Shall doffe her fleshes borrowd fayre attyre, 
And be forgot as it had never beene ; 
That many now much worship and admire ! 
Ne any then shall after it inquire, 
Ne any mention shall thereof remaine. 
But what this verse, that never shall expyre. 
Shall to your purchas with her thankles paine ! 
Faire! be no lenger proud of that shall perish! 
But that, which shall you make immortall 
cherish. 



xxvu 




HE laurel-leafe, which you 
this day doe weare, 
Gives me great hope of your 
relenting mynd : 
For since it is the badge which 
I doe beare, 

Ye, bearing it, doe seeme to me 
inclind : 

The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find, 
Let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire 
\A^ith sweet infusion, and put you in mind 
Of that proud mayd, whom now those leaves 

attyre : 
Proud Daphne, scorning Phoebus lovely fyre, 
On the Thessalian shore from him did flie : 
For which the gods, in theyr revengefull yre, 
Did her transforme into a laurell-tree. 
Then fly no more, fayre Love, from Phebus 

chace. 
But in your brest his leafe and love embrace. 



xxvni 




EE ! how the stubborne dam- 
zell doth deprave 
My simple meaning with dis- 
daynfull scorne ; 
And by the bay, which I unto 
her gave, 

Accoumpts my self her captive 
quite forlorne. 
The bay (quothTshe) is of the victours borne, 
Yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr meeds, 
And they therewith doe Poetes heads adorne. 
To sing the glory of their famous deedes. 
But sith she will the conquest challeng needs. 
Let her accept me as her faithfull thrall : 
That her great triumph, which my skill exceeds, 
I may in trump of fame blaze over-all. 
Then would I decke her head with glorious 

bayes, 
And fill the world with her victorious prayse. 



XXIX 




'Y love is lyke to yse, and I to 
fyre; 

How comes it then that this 
her cold so great 
Is not dissolved through my 
so hot desyre. 

But harder growes the more 
I her intreat ! 
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat 
Is not delayd by her hart-frosen cold ; 
But that I burne much more in boyling sweat, 
And feele my flames augmented manifold ! 
What more miraculous thing may be told, 
That fire, whichall things melts, should harden 

yse; 
And yse, which is congeald with sencelesse 

cold, 
Should kindle fyre by wonderfull devyse ! 
Such is the powre of love in gentle mind, 
That it can alter all the course of kynd. 



XXX 




H ! why hath nature to so hard 
a hart 

Given so goodly giftes of beau- 
ties grace ! 

Whose pryde depraves each 
other better part, 
And all those pretious orna- 
ments deface. 
Sith to all other beastes of bloody race 
A dreadfuU countenaunce she given hath ; 
That with theyr terrour al the rest may chace, 
And warne to shun the daunger of theyr wrath. 
But my proud one doth worke the greater scath, 
Through sweet allurement of her lovely hew ; 
That she the better may in bloody bath 
Of such poor thralls her cruell hands embrew. 
But, did she know how ill these two accord, 
Such cruelty she would have soone abhord. 



XXXI 




HE paynefull smith, with force 
of fervent heat, 
.The hardest yron soone doth 

mollify ; 
I That with his heavy sledge he 
can it beat. 

And fashion to what he it list 
apply. 

Yet cannot all these flames, in which I fry, 
Her hart more harde then yron soft a whit : 
Ne all the playnts and prayers, with which I 
Doe beat on th' andvile of her stubberne wit 
But still, the more she fervent sees my fit, 
The more she frieseth in her wilfull pryde ; 
And harder growes, the harder she is smit 
With all the playnts which to her be applyde. 
What then remaines but I to ashes burne, 
And she to stones at length all frosen turne ! 



xxxii 




REAT wrong I doe, I can it 
not deny, 

To that most sacred Em- 
presse, my dear dred. 
Not finishing her Queene of 
Faery, 

That mote enlarge her living 
_ prayses, dead. 

But Lodwick, this of grace to me aread ; 
Do ye not thinck th' accomplishment of it 
Sufficient worke for one mans simple head, 
All were it, as the rest, but rudely writ ? 
How then should I, without another wit, 
Thinck ever to endure so taedious toyle ! 
Sins that this one is tost with troublous fit 
Of a proud love, that doth my spirite spoyle. 
Ceasse then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt me 

rest; 
Or lend you me another living brest. 



xxxin 




YKE as a ship, that through 

the Ocean wyde, 

By conduct of some star, doth 

make her way ; 

Whenas a storme hath dimd 

her trusty guyde, 

Out of her course doth wander 

far astray ! 

So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray 
Me to direct, with cloudes is over-cast. 
Doe wander now, in darknesse and dismay. 
Through hidden perils round about me plast ; 
Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past. 
My Helice, the lodestar of my lyfe. 
Will shine again, and looke on me at last, 
With lovely light to cleare my cloudy grief. 
Till then I wander carefull, comfortlesse. 
In secret sorow, and sad pensivenesse. 



xxxiv 




Y hungry eyes, through greedy 
covetize 

Still to behold the object of 
their paine, 

With no contentment can 
themselves suffize ; 
But, having, pine ; and, hav- 
ing not, complaine. 
For, lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne ; 
And, having it, they gaze on it the more ; 
In their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine. 
Whose eyes him starved: so plenty makes me 

poore. 
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store 
Of that faire sight, that nothing else they brooke, 
But lothe the things which they did like before, 
And can no more endure on them to looke. 
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me. 
And all their showes but shadowes, saving 
she. 



XXXV 




ELL me, when shall these 
wearie woes have end, 
Or shall their ruthlesse tor- 
ment never cease ; 
But al my dayes in pining lan- 
gour spend. 

Without hope of aswagement 
or release ? 

Is there no meanes for me to purchace peace. 
Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes ; 
But that their cruelty doth still increace. 
And dayly more augment my miseryes ? 
But, when ye have shewd all extremityes,' 
Then thinke how litle glory ye have gayned 
By slaying him, whose life, though ye despyse, 
Mote have your life in honour long maintayned. 
But by his death, which some perhaps will 

mone. 
Ye shall condemned be of many a one. 



xxxvi 




HAT guyle is this, that those 
her golden tresses 
She doth attyre under a net of 
gold; 
I And with sly skill so cunningly 
them dresses, 
iThat which is gold, or heare, 
may scarse be told ? 
Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold, 
She may entangle in that golden snare ; 
And, being caught, may craftily enfold 
Theyr weaker harts, which are not wel aware ? 
Take heed, therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe 

stare 
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net, 
In which, if ever ye entrapped are, 
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get. 
Fondnesse it were for any, being free. 
To covet fetters, though they golden bee ! 



xxxvii 




RION, when, through tem- 
pests cruel wracke, 
He forth was thrown into the 
greedy seas ; 
[Through the sweet musick, 

which his harp did make, 
|Allur'd a Dolphin him from 
death to ease. 
But my rude musick, which was wont to please 
i / Some dainty eares, cannot, with any skill, 
^ The dreadfull tempest of her wrath appease. 
Nor move the Dolphin from her stubborn will, 
But in her pride she dooth persever still. 
All carelesse how my life for her decayes : 
Yet with one word she can it save or spill. 
To spill were pitty, but to save were prayse ! 
Chose rather to be praysd for dooing good. 
Then to be blam'd for spilling guiltlesse blood. 



xxxvin 




iWEET Smile! the daughter 
of the Queene of Love, 
Expressing all thy mothers 
powrefull art. 

With which she wants to tem- 
per angry Jove, 
When all the gods he threats 
with thundring dart : 
Sweet is thy vertue, as thy selfe sweet art. 
For, when on me thou shinedst late in sadnesse, 
A melting pleasance ran through every part, 
And me revived with hart-robbing gladnesse. 
Why lest rapt with joy resembling heavenly 

madnes, 
My soule was ravisht quite as in a traunce ; 
And feeling thence, no more her sorowes sad- 
nesse. 
Fed on the fulnesse of that chearefull glaunce. 
More sweet than Nectar, or Ambrosiall meat, 
Seemd every bit which thenceforth I did eat. 



xxxix 




ARK when she smiles with 
amiable cheare, 
And tell me whereto can ye 
lyken it ; 

When on each eyelid sweetly 
doe appeare 

An hundred Graces as in 
shade to sit. 
Lykest it seemeth, in my simple wit, 
Unto the fayre sunshine in somers day ; 
That, when a dreadfull storme away is flit, 
Thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly 

ray; 
At sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray, 
And every beast that to his den was fled. 
Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, 
And to the light lift up theyr drouping hed. 
So my storme-beaten hart likewise is cheared 
With that sunshine, when cloudy looks are 
cleared. 



xl 




iS it her nature, or is it her 
will, 

To be so cruell to an humbled 
foe? 

I If nature; then she may it 
mend with skill : 
If will ; then she at will may 
will forgoe. 
But if her nature and her wil be so, 
That she will plague the man that loves her 

most. 
And take delight t' encrease a wretches woe ; 
Then all her natures goodly guifts are lost : 
And that same glorious beauties ydle boast 
Is but a bayt such wretches to beguile. 
As, being long in her loves tempest tost. 
She meanes at last to make her pitious spoyle. 
O fayrest fayre ! let never it be named, 
That so fayre beauty was so fowly shamed. 



xli 




HE love which me so cruelly 
tormenteth, 

So pleasing is in my extream- 
est paine, 

That, all the more my sorrow 
it augmenteth, 

The more I love and doe em- 
brace my bane. 
Ne doe I wish (for wishing were but vaine) 
To be acquit fro my continual smart ; 
But joy, her thrall for ever to remayne, 
And yield for pledge my poor capty ved hart ; 
The which, that it from her may never start, 
Let her, yf please her, bynd with adamant 

chayne : 
And from all wandring loves, which mote per- 

vart 
His safe assurance, strongly it restrayne. 
Onely let her abstaine from cruelty. 
And doe me not before my time to dy. 



xlii 




HALL I then silent be, or shall 

I speake ? 

iAnd, if I speake, her wrath 

renew I shall ; 

And, if I silent be, my hart will 

breake. 

Or choked be with overflow- 
ing gall. 

What tyranny is this, both my hart to thrall, 
And eke my toung with proud restraint to tie ; 
That nether I may speake nor thinke at all, 
But like a stupid stock in silence die ! 
Yet I my hart with silence secretly 
Will teach to speak, and my just cause to plead; 
And eke mine eies, with meek humility, 
Love-learned letters to her eyes to read ; 
Which her deep wit, that true harts thought 

can spel, 
Wil soon conceive, and learne to construe 
well. 



xliii 




HEN those renoumed noble 
Peres of Greece, 
Thrugh stubborn pride, 
amongst themselves did jar, 
Forgetfull of the famous gold- 
en fleece ; 

Then Orpheus with his harp 
theyr strife did bar. 
But this continuall, cruell, civill warre, 
The which my selfe against my selfe doe make ; 
Whilest my weak powres of passions warreid 

arre; 
No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake. 
But, when in hand my tuneleese harp I take, 
Then doe I more augment my foes despight ; 
And griefe renew, and passions doe awake 
To battaile, fresh against my selfe to fight. 
Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle 

peace. 
The more I fynd their malice to increase. 



xliv 




EAVE, lady! in your glasse 
of cristall clene, 
Your goodly self e for evermore 
to vew : 

And in my selfe, my inward 
selfe, I meane, 

Most lively lyke behold your 
semblant trew. 
Within my hart, though hardly it can shew 
Thing so divine to vew of earthly eye, 
The fayre Idea of your celestiall hew 
And every part remaines immortally : 
And were it not that, through your cruelty, 
With sorrow dimmed and deform' d it were, 
The goodly ymage of your visnomy. 
Clearer then cristall, would therein appere. 
But, if your selfe in me ye playne will see, 
Remove the cause by which your fayre 
beames darkned be. 



xlv 




HEN my abodes prefixed time 
is spent, 

My cruell fayre streight bids 
me wend my way : 
But then from heaven most 
hideous stormes are sent, 
I As willing me against her will 
to stay. 

Whom then shall I, or heaven or her, obay ? 
The heavens know best what is the best for me : 
But as she will, whose will my life doth sway, 
My lower heaven, so it perforce must bee. 
But ye high hevens, that all this sorowe see, 
Sith all your tempests cannot hold me backe, 
Aswage your storms ; or else both you, and she, 
Will both together me too sorely wracke. 
Enough it is for one man to sustaine 
The stormes, which she alone on me doth 
raine. 



xlvi 




RUST not the treason of those 
smyling lookes, 
Untill ye have theyr guylefull 
traynes well tryde : 
For they are lyke but unto 
golden hookes, 

That from the foolish fish 
theyr bayts doe hyde : 
So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth 

guyde 
Unto her love, and tempte to theyr decay ; 
Whome, being caught, she kills with cruell 

pryde, 
And feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray : 
Yet, even whylst her bloody hands them slay, 
Her eyes looke lovely, and upon them smyle ; 
That they take pleasure in her cruell play. 
And, dying, doe themselves of payne beguyle. 
O mighty charm ! which makes men love ^. 
theyr bane, f ^^ / 

And thinck they dy with pleasure, live with / 
payne. 



xlvii 




NNOCENT paper ; whom too 
cruell hand 

Did make the matter to avenge 
her yre : 

And, ere she could thy cause 
wel understand, 
Did sacrifize unto the greedy 
fyre. 

Well worthy thou to have found better hyre, 
Then so bad end for hereticks ordayned ; 
Yet heresy nor treason didst conspire, 
But plead thy maisters cause, unjustly payned. 
Whom she, all carelesse of his griefe con- 

strayned 
To utter forth the anguish of his hart : 
And would not heare, when he to her com- 

playned 
The piteous passion of his dying smart. 
Yet live for ever, though against her will. 
And speake her good, though she requite it ill. 



xlviii 




AYRE cruell ! why are ye so 
fierce and cruell ? 
Is it because your eyes have 
powre to kill ? 

Then know that mercy is the 
Mighties Jewell : 
And greater glory thinke, to 
save then spill. 
But if it be your pleasure, and proud will, 
To shew the powre of your imperious eyes ; 
Then not on him that never thought you ill, 
But bend your force against your enemyes : 
Let them feele the utmost of your crueltyes ; 
And kill with looks as Cockatrices doo : 
But him, that at your footstoole humbled lies, 
With mercifull regard give mercy too. 
Such mercy shall you make admyr'd to be ; 
So shall you live, by giving life to me. 



xlix 




lONG languishing in double 
malady 

Of my harts wound, and of my 
bodies griefe ; 

'There came to me a leach, that 
would apply 

^Fit medicines for my bodies 
best reliefe. 
Vayne man, quod I, that hast but little priefe 
In deep discovery of the mynds disease ; 
Is not the hart of all the body chiefe. 
And rules the members as it selfe doth please ? 
Then, with some cordialls, seeke first to appease 
The inward languor of my wounded hart, 
And then my body shall have shortly ease : 
But such sweet cordialls passe Physitions art. 
Then, my lyfes Leach! doe your skill reveale; 
And, with one salve, both hart and body heale. 




OE I not see that fayrest 
ymages 

Of hardest marble are of pur- 
pose made, 

For that they should endure 
through many ages, 
Ne let theyr famous moni- 
ments to fade ? 
Why then doe I, untrainde in lovers trade. 
Her hardnes blame, which I should more com- 
mend? 
Sith neve rought was excellent assayde 
Which was not hard t' atchieve and bring to 

end. 
Ne ought so hard, but he, that would attend. 
Mote soften it and to his will allure : 
So doe I hope her stubborne hart to bend, 
And that it then more stedfast will endure : 
Onely my paines wil be the more to get her. 
But, having her, my joy wil be the greater. 



li 




tO oft as homeward I from her j 

depart, J 

I goe lyke one that, having lost j 

the field, | 

Is prisoner led away with | 

heavy hart, \ 

Despoyld of warlike armes and \ 

knowen shield. \ 
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld 

To sorrow and to solitary paine ; I 

From presence of my dearest deare exylde, \ 
Long-while alone in langour to remaine. 
There let no thought of joy, or pleasure vaine, 

Dare to approch, that may my solace breed ; i 
But sudden dumps, and drery sad disdayne 

Of all worlds gladnesse, more my torment feed. j 

So I her absens will my penaunce make, i 

That of her presens I my meed may take. ! 



Hi 




jHE Panther, knowing that his 
' spotted hyde 

I Doth please all beasts, but that 
his looks them fray ; 
iWithin a bush his dreadfuU 
head doth hide, 
jTo let them gaze, whylest he 
on them may pray : 
Right so my cruell fayre with me doth play ; 
For, with the goodly semblant of her hew, 
She doth allure me to mine owne decay. 
And then no mercy will unto me shew. 
Great shame it is, thing so divine in view. 
Made for to be the worlds most ornament, 
To make the bayte her gazers to embrew : 
Good shames to be to ill an instrument ! 
But mercy doth with beautie best agree. 
As in theyr Maker ye them best may see. 



liii 




iF this worlds Theatre in which 
we stay, 

My love, lyke the Spectator, 
ydly sits ; 

Beholding me, that all the 
pageants play, 

Disguysing diversly my troub- 
led wits. 

Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits, 
And mask in myrth lyke to a Comedy : 
Soone after, when my joy to sorrow flits, 
I waile, and make my woes a Tragedy. 
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye, 
Delights not in my merth, nor rues my smart : 
But, when I laugh, she mocks ; and, when I cry. 
She laughes, and hardens evermore her hart. 
What then can move her ? if nor merth nor 

mone, 
She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone. 



liv 




oft as I her beauty doe be- 
hold, 

1 And therewith doe her cruelty 
compare, 

I marvaile of what substance 
was the mould, 
I The which her made attonce 
so cruell faire. 
Not earth ; for her high thoghts more heavenly 

are: 
Not water; for her love doth burne like fyre : 
Not ayre ; for she is not so light or rare : 
Not fyre ; for she doth friese with faint desire. 
Then needs another Element inquire 
Whereof she mote be made, that is, the skye. 
For to the heaven her haughty lookes aspire : 
And eke her mind is pure immortall hye. 
Then, sith so heaven ye lykened are the best. 
Be lyke in mercy as in all the rest. 



Iv 




AYRE ye be sure, but cruell ! 
and unkind, 

As is a Tygre, that with greed- | 

inesse j 

Hunts after bloud; when he j 

by chance doth find ; 

A feeble beast, doth felly him | 

oppresse. i 
Fayre be ye sure, but proud and pittilesse, 

As is a storme, that all things doth prostrate ; ^ 

Finding a tree alone all comfortlesse, , 

Beats on it strongly, it to ruinate. j 

Fayre be ye sure, but hard and obstinate, j 
As is a rocke amidst the raging floods : 

Gaynst which, a ship, of succour desolate, ' 
Doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and goods. 
That ship, that tree, and that same beast, am I, 

Whom ye doe wreck, doe ruine, and destroy. j 



Ivi 




I WEET warriour ! when shall 
I have peace with you ? 
High time it is this warre now 
ended were 

Which I no lenger can endure 
to sue, 

Ne your incessant battry more 
to beare : 
So weake my powres, so sore my wounds, ap- 

peare. 
That wonder is how I should live a jot. 
Seeing my hart through-launced every where 
With thousand arrowes, which your eies have 

shot: 
Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not. 
But glory thinke to make these cruel stoures. 
Ye cruell one ! what glory can be got. 
In slaying him that would live gladly yours ! 
Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely 

grace. 
That al my wounds wil heale in little space. 



Ivii 




By her thai is most assured to her selfe* 1 

EAKE is th' assurance that ; 
weake flesh reposeth 
In her owne powre, and scorn- , 
eth others ayde ; | 

I That soonest fals, when as she i 
most supposeth 
iHer selfe assurd, and is of 
nought aff'rayd. | 

All flesh is frayle, and all her strength unstayd, { 
Like a vaine bubble blowen up with ayre : I 

Devouring tyme and changeful chance have \ 
prayd, j 

Her glories pride that none may it repayre. i 
Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fayre, I 
But fayleth, trusting on his owne assurance ; | 
And he, that standeth on the hyghest stayre, 
Fals lowest ; for on earth nought hath endur- 
aunce. I 

Why then doe ye, proud fayre, misdeeme so j 
farre, i 

That to your selfe ye most assured arre ! j 



Iviii 




HRISE happie she ! that is so 
well assured 

,Unto her selfe, and setled so in 
hart, 

iThat nether will for better be 
allured, 

Ne feard with worse to any 
chaunce to start ; 
But, like a steddy ship, doth strongly part 
The raging waves, and keepes her course aright; 
Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart, 
Ne ought for fayrer weathers false delight. 
Such selfe-assurance need not feare the spight 
Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends : 
But, in the stay of her owne stedfast might, 
Nether to one her selfe nor other bends. 
Most happy she, that most assured doth rest; 
But he most happy, who such one loves best. 



lix 




HEY, that in course of heaven- 
ly spheares are skild, 
To every planet point his sun- 
dry yeare : 

(In which her circles voyage is 
fulfild, 
^As Mars in three-score yeares 
doth run his spheare. 
So, since the winged god his planet cleare 
Began in me to move, one yeare is spent : 
The which doth longer unto me appeare, 
Then al those fourty which my life out-went. 
Then by that count, which lovers books invent, 
The spheare of Cupid fourty yeares containes : 
Which I have wasted in long languishment, 
That seemd the longer for my greater paines. 
But let my loves fayre Planet short her wayes, 
This yeare ensuing, or else short my dayes. 



Ix 




HE glorious image of the 

Makers beautie, 

My soverayne saynt, the Idoll 

of my thought, 

Dare not henceforth, above the 

bounds of dewtie, 

^T' accuse of pride, or rashly 

blame for ought. 
For being, as she is, divinely wrought, 
And of the brood of Angels hevenly borne ; 
And with the crew of blessed Saynts upbrought. 
Bach of which did her with theyr guifts adorne ; 
The bud of joy, the blossome of the morne. 
The beame of light, whom mortal eyes admyre ; 
What reason is it then but she should scorne 
Base things, that to her love too bold aspire ! 
Such heavenly formes ought rather worshipt 

be. 
Then dare be lov'd by men of meane degree. 



Ixi 




iHE weary yeare his race now 
having run, 
iThe new begins his compast 

course anew : 
|With shew of morning mylde 
he hath begun, 

Betokening peace and plenty 
to ensew. 

So let us, which this chaunge of weather vew, 
Chaunge eke our mynds, and former lives 

amend ; 
The old yeares sinnes forepast let us eschew, 
And fly the faults with which we did offend. 
Then shall the new yeares joy forth freshly send. 
Into the glooming world, his gladsome ray : 
And all these stormes, which now his beauty 

blend, 
Shall turne to caulmes, and tymely cleare away. 
So, likewise. Love ! cheare you your heavy 

spright. 
And chaunge old yeares annoy to new de- 
light. 



Ixii 




FTER long stormes and tem- 
pests sad assay, 
^Which hardly I endured here- 
tofore, 

[In dread of death, and daun- 
gerous dismay, 

iWith which my silly barke 
was tossed sore : 
I doe at length descry the happy shore. 
In which I hope ere long for to arry ve : 
Fayre soyle it seemes from far, and fraught 

with store 
Of all that deare and daynty is alyve. 
Most happy he ! that can at last atchyve 
The joyous safety of so sweet a rest ; 
Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive 
Remembrance of all paines which him opprest. 
All paines are nothing in respect of this ; 
All sorrowes short that gaine eternall blisse. 



Ixiii 




.OMMING to kisse her lyps, 
(such grace I found,) 
•Me seemd, I smelt a gardin of 
sweet flowres, 
■That dainty odours from them 
threw around, 
For damzels fit to decke their 

lovers bowres. 

Her lips did smell lyke unto Gillyflowers ; 
Her ruddy cheekes, lyke unto Roses red ; 
Her snowy browes, like budded Bellamoures ; 
Her lovely eyes, lyke Pincks but newly spred ; 
Her goodly bosome, lyke a Strawberry bed ; 
Her neck, lyke to a bounch of CuUambynes ; 
Her brest, lyke Lillyes, ere theyr leaves be shed ; 
Her nipples, lyke yong blossomed Jessemynes : 
Such fragrant flowers doe give most odorous 

smell ; 
But her sweet odour did them all excell. 



Ixiv 




HE doubt which ye misdeeme, 
fayre love, is vaine, 
That fondly feare to loose your 
liberty ; 

When, loosing one, two liber- 
ties ye gayne. 

And make him bond that bond- 
age earst dyd fly. 
Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth 

tye 
Without constraynt, or dread of any ill : 
The gentle birde feeles no captivity 
Within her cage ; but singes, and feeds her fill. 
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill 
The league twixt them, that loyal love hath 

bound : 
But simple truth, and mutuall good-will, 
Seekes with sweet peace, to salve each others 
wound : 
There Fayth doth fearlesse dwell in brasen 

towre. 
And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred 
bowre. 



Ixv 




O all those happy blessings, 
which ye have 

With plenteous hand by heav- 
en upon you thrown ; 
This one disparagement they 
to you gave, 

That ye your love lent to so 
meane a one. 
Yee, whose high worths surpassing paragon 
Could not on earth have found one fit for mate, 
Ne but in heaven matchable to none, 
W^hy did ye stoup unto so lowly state ? 
But ye thereby much greater glory gate, 
Then had ye sorted with a princes pere : 
For, now your light doth more itselfe dilate, 
And, in my darknesse, greater doth appeare. 
Yet, since your light hath once enlumind me, 
With my reflex yours shall encreased be. 



Ixvi 




lYKE as a huntsman after 
weary chace, 

Seeing the game from him 
escapt away, 

Sits downe to rest him in some 
shady place, 

With panting hounds beguiled 
of their pray : 
So, after long pursuit and vaine assay, 
When I all weary had the chace forsooke. 
The gentle deare returnd the selfe-same way. 
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke : 
There she, beholding me with mylder looke. 
Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide ; 
Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke, 
And with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde. 
Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so 

wyld, 
So goodly wonne, with her owne will beguyld. 



Ixvii 







OST glorious Lord of lyfe! 

that, on this day, 

Didst make thy triumph over 

death and sin ; 

And, having harrowd hell, 

didst bring away 

Captivity thence captive, us 

to win : 

This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin ; 
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye. 
Being with thy deare blood clene washt from 

sin. 
May live for ever in felicity ! 
And that thy love we weighing worthily. 
May likewise love thee for the same againe ; 
And for thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy, 
With love may one another entertayne ! 

So let us love, deare love, lyke as we ought : 
\ Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. 



Ixviii 




HE famous warriors of an- 
ticke world 

Used Trophees to erect in 
stately wize ; 

In which they would the rec- 
ords have enrold 
Of theyr great deeds and val- 
orous emprize. 
What trophee then shall I most fit devize, 
In which I may record the memory 
Of my loves conquest, peerelesse beauties prise. 
Adorn' d with honour, love, and chastity! 
Even this verse, vowd to eternity, y^ 

Shall be thereof immortall moniment ; -^^^'^i^, 
And tell her prayse to all posterity, yJ^ 

That may admire such worlds rare wonder- 
ment; 

The happy purchase of my glorious spoile, 
Gotton at last with labour and long toyle. 



M 



Ixix 




RESH Spring, the herald of 
loves mighty king, 
In whose cote-armour richly 
are displayd 

All sorts of flowers, the which 
on earth do spring, 
iln goodly colours gloriously 
' arrayd ; 

Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd, 
Yet in her winters bowre not well awake ; 
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid, 
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take ; 
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make. 
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew; 
Where every one, that misseth then her make, 
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew, 
Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whilest it is 

prime ; 
For none can call againe the passed time. 



Ixx 




JOY to see how, in your draw- 
en work, 

Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe 
compare ; 

|And me unto the Sypder, that 
doth lurke 

In close awayt, to catch her 
unaware : 

Right so your selfe were caught in cunning snare 
Of a deare foe, and thralled to his love ; 
In whose streight bands ye now captived are 
So firmely, that ye never may remove. 
But as your worke is woven all above 
With woodby nd flowers and fragrant Eglantine ; 
So sweet your prison you in time shall prove, 
With many deare delights bedecked fyne. 
And all thensforth eternall peace shall see 
Betweene the Spyder and the gentle Bee. 



Ixxi 




|FT, when my spirit doth spred 
her bolder winges, 
In mind to mount up to the 
purest sky ; 

*It down is weighd with thoght 
of earthly things, 
And clogd with burden of mor- 
tality; 

Where, when that soverayne beauty it doth spy, 
Resembling heavens glory in her light, 
Drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it back doth 

fly, 

And unto heaven forgets her former flig:ht. 
There my fraile fancy, fed with full delight. 
Doth bath in blisse, and mantleth most at ease ; 
Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might 
Her harts desire with most contentment please. 
Hart need not wish none other happinesse, 
But here on earth to have such hevens blisse. 



Ixxii 




|EING my self captyved here 
in care, 

I My hart, (whom none with 
servile bands can tye, 
But the fayre tresses of your 
golden hayre,) 

Breaking his prison, forth to 
you doth fly. 
Lyke as a byrd, that in ones hand doth spy 
Desired food, to it doth make his flight : 
Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye 
To feed his fill, flyes backe unto your sight. 
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright 
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall : 
Perhaps he there may learne, with rare delight, 
To sing your name and prayses over- all : 
That it hereafter may you not repent. 
Him lodging in your bosome to have lent. 



Ixxiii 




y 



OST happy letters ! framed by 
skilful! trade, 

With which that happy name 
was first desynd, 
The which three times thrise 
happy hath me made, 
With guifts of body, fortune, 
and of mind. 
The first my being to me gave by kind. 
From mothers womb derived by dew descent : 
The second is my sovereigne Queene most kind, 
That honour and large richesse to me lent : 
The third, my love, my lifes last ornament. 
By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed : 
To speake her prayse and glory excellent, 
Of all alive most worthy to be praysed. 
Ye three Elizabeths ! for ever live. 
That three such graces did unto me give. 



Ixxiv 




|NE day I wrote her name upon 
the strand ; 

But came the waves, and 
washed it away: 
Agayne, I wrote it with a sec- 
ond hand ; 

But came the tyde, and made 
my paynes his pray. 
Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay 
A mortall thing so to immortalize ; 
For I my selve shall lyke to this decay. 
And eek my name bee wyped out lykewise. 
Not so, quod I ; let baser things devize 
To dy in dust, iDut you shall live by fame : 
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize. 
And in the hevens wryte your glorious name. 
Where, whenas death shall all the world 

subdew, 
Our love shall live, and later life renew. 



Ixxv 




AYRE bosome ! fraught with 
vertues richest tresure, 
The neast of love, the lodging 
of delight, 

The bowre of blisse, the para- 
dice of pleasure, 
The sacred harbour of that 
hevenly spright; 
How was I ravisht with your lovely sight, 
And my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray ! 
Whiles diving deepe through amorous insight^ 
On the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray ; 
And twixt her paps, (like early fruit in May, 
Whose harvest seemd to hasten now apace,) 
They loosely did theyr wanton winges display, 
And there to rest themselves did boldly place. 
Sweet thoughts ! I envy your so happy rest. 
Which oft I wisht, yet never was so blest. 



Ixxvi 




AS it a dreame, or did I see it 
playne ; 

A goodly table of pure yvory, 
[All spred with juncats, fit to 

entertayne 
^The greatest Prince with 

pompous roialty : 
[Mongst which, there in a silver 
dish did ly 
Twoo golden apples of unvalewd price ; 
Far passing those which Hercules came by, 
Or those which Atalanta did entice ; 
Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinfuU vice ; 
That many sought, yet none could ever taste ; 
Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from Paradice 
By Love himselfe, and in his garden plaste. 
Her brest that table was, so richly spredd ; 
My thoughts the guests, which would thereon 
have fedd. 



Ixxvii 




lACKYNG my love, I go from 
place to place, 
Xyke a young fawne, that late 
' hath lost the hynd; 
fAnd seeke each where, where 

last I sawe her face, 
^ Whose ymage yet I carry fresh 
in mynd. 

I seeke the fields with her late footing synd ; 
I seeke her bowre with her late presence deckt ; 
Yet nor in field nor bowre I her can fynd ; 
Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect : 
But, when myne eyes I thereunto direct, 
They ydly back returne to me agayne : 
And, when I hope to see theyr trew object, 
I fynd my selfe but fed with fancies vayne. 
Ceasse then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to 

see; 
And let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee. 



Ixxviii 




'EN call you fay re, and you 
doe credit it, 

For that your selfe ye dayly 
such doe see : 

But the trew fayre, that is the 
gentle wit, 
(And vertuous mind, is much 
more praysd of me : 
For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, 
Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious 

hew; 
But onely that is permanent and free 
From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensew. 
That is true beautie : that doth argue you 
To be divine, and borne of heavenly seed ; 
Derived from that fayre Spirit, from whom al 

true 
And perfect beauty did at first proceed : 

He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made ; 
All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade. 



Ixxix 



'\J 




FTER so long a race as I have 
run 

Through Faery land, which 
those six books compile, 
Give leave to rest me being 
halfe fordonne, 
lAnd gather to myselfe new 
breath awhile. 
Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle, 
Out of my prison I will breake anew ; 
And stoutly will that second worke assoyle, 
With strong endevour and attention dew. 
Till then give leave to me, in pleasant mew 
To sport my muse, and sing my loves sweet 

praise ; 
The contemplation of whose heavenly hew, 
My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse. 
But let her prayses yet be low and meane. 
Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene. 



Ixxx 




AYRE is my love, when her 
fayre golden heares 
With the loose wynd ye wav- 
ing chance to marke ; 
Fayre, when the rose in her 
red cheekes appeares ; 
Or in her eyes the fyre of love 
does sparke. 
Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke, 
With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay ; 
Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft 

doth dark 
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away. 
But fayrest she, when so she doth display 
The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight ; 
Throgh which her words so wise do make their 

way 
To beare the message of her gentle spright. 
The rest be works of natures wonderment : 
But this the worke of harts astonishment. 



Ixxxi 




OY of my life ! full oft for lov- 
ing you 

I blesse my lot, that was so 
lucky placed : 

But then the more your owne 
mishap I rew, 

That are so much by so meane 
love embased. 
For, had the equall hevens so much you graced 
In this as in the rest, ye mote invent 
Som hevenly wit, whose verse could have en- 
chased 
Your glorious name in golden moniment. 
But since ye deignd so goodly to relent 
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth ; 
That little, that I am, shall all be spent 
In setting your immortall prayses forth : 
Whose lofty argument, uplifting me. 
Shall lift you up unto an high degree. 



Ixxxii 




ET not one sparke of filthy 
lustfull fyre 

Breake out, that may her sa- 
cred peace molest ; 
Ne one light glance of sensuall 
desyre 

Attempt to work her gentle 
mindes unrest: 
But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest, 
And modest thoughts breathd from wel-tempred 

sprites, 
Goe visit her in her chast bowre of rest 
Accompanyde with angelick delightes. 
There fill your selfe with those most joyous 

sights. 
The which my selfe could never yet attayne : 
But speake no word to her of these sad plights. 
Which her too constant stiffenesse doth con- 
strayn. 

Onely behold her rare perfection. 
And blesse your fortunes fayre election. 



Ixxxiii 




HE world that cannot deeme 
of worthy things, 
When I doe praise her, say I 
doe but flatter : 

So does the Cuckow, when the 
Mavis sings. 

Begin his witlesse note apace 
to clatter. 

But they that skill not of so heavenly matter, 
All that they know not envy or admyre ; 
Rather then envy, let them wonder at her. 
But not to deeme of her desert aspyre. 
Deepe, in the closet of my parts entyre, 
Her worth is written with a golden quill, 
That me with heavenly fury doth inspire, 
And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill. 
Which when as Fame in her shrill trump shal 

thunder, 
Let the world chose to envy or to wonder. 



Ixxxiv 




ENEMOUS toung, tipt with 
vile adders sting, 
Of that selfe kynd with which 
the Furies fell 

Theyr snaky heads doe combe, 
from which a spring 
Of poysoned words and spite- 
full speeches well ; 
Let all the plagues, and horrid paines, of hell 
Upon thee fall for thine accursed hyre 
That with false forged lyes, which thou didst tel, 
In my true love did stirre up coles of yre ; 
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre. 
And, catching hold on thine owne wicked hed. 
Consume thee quite, that didst with guile con- 
spire 
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred ! 
Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy re- 
ward, 
Dew to thy selfe, that it for me prepard ! 



Ixxxv 




INCE I did leave the presence 

of my love, 

Many long weary dayes I have 

outwome ; 

And many nights, that slowly 

seemd to move 

Theyr sad protract from even- 
ing untill morne. 
For, when as day the heaven doth adorne, 
I wish that night the noyous day would end : 
And, when as night hath us of light forlorne, 
I wish that day would shortly reascend. 
Thus I the time with expectation spend, 
And faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile, 
That further seemes his terme still to extend. 
And maketh every minute seeme a myle. 
So sorrow still doth seeme too long to last ; 
But joyous houres doe fly away too fast. 



Ixxxvi 




INCE I have lacktthe comfort 
of that light, 
,The which was wont to lead 
my thoughts astray ; 
I wander as in darkenesse of 
the night, 
Affrayd of every dangers least 

_ dismay. 

Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day. 
When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne, 
But th' onely image of that heavenly ray, 
Whereof some glance doth in mine eie re- 
may ne. 
Of which beholding the Idaea playne. 
Through contemplation of my purest part. 
With light thereof I doe my selfe sustayne. 
And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart. 
But, with such brightnesse whylest I fill my 

mind, 
I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd. 



Ixxxvii 




>YKE as the Culver, on the 
bared bough, 

Sits mourning for the absence 
of her mate ; 
'And, in her songs, sends many 
a wishfull vow 

For his returne that seemes to 
linger late : 
So I alone, now left disconsolate, 
Mourne to my selfe the absence of my love, 
And, wandring here and there all desolate. 
Seek with my playnts to match that mournful 

dove. 
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove 
Can comfort me, but her owne joyous sight : 
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can 

move. 
In her unspotted pleasauns to delight. 

Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I mis. 
And dead my life that wants such lively blis. 



Ixxxviii 



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